heavy is the head ;

One thing that Alek loved about Andreas was that his brother always had a little lecture stored somewhere up his sleeve; no one could ever say that Andreas did not love to hear himself talk. Maybe the same could be said about Alek, but the former Alpha wouldn't admit it, he couldn't help it though that he'd become so popular after he was viciously attacked by a wolf in the wood.

Andreas, just as one life, had been a tortured people-pleaser. The idea that he wasn't doing 'much' for as much people as possible poked at that mostly-dead part of a destined boy who longed for nods of approval and words of affirmation. It poked at that part for half a second before he found the amusement and remembered that he, for the most part, chose this arrangement and Alek was a little shit who knew all of that. "Political retirement is sweet," Andreas replied, the words coming out like a dreamy sigh, "you'd know that now."

Rowan's looking at Andreas and he's fine talking about Evy, he's fine talking about everyone else's relationships, but his own are still a soft spot. Because yeah he'd just gone through a break up, but before the breakup there'd been grieving with his other partner. He still can't think too hard about Gabriel, can't help but feel this ache in his chest when he rolls over and the dhampir isn't there because he was adamant he spend the night despite him working late. And then there's this string of dates, if one could even call them that. "Not too much right now, trying to kind of put myself back out there, you know?" For the briefest second, he thinks about Arturo and all of their glances at Flirt and that's all out of the question.

Andreas could tell there was something bitter underneath the surface, or perhaps not bitter but difficult and painful. He didn't know but he didn't have the closeness with his cousin yet to push him for answers when sometimes it was best to let a man open up by their own choice. This was a day of greeting, of reuniting, if Rowan wished for it to be only joyful then he would let it. But he also had the instincts of an older brother and a father; the Archdruid couldn't help extending a hand towards family.

"I got punched." Couple of times, but it was fine, it wasn't like he hadn't been hit a billion times before. It was comforting. "You know," Alek said as he kicked his feet up a bit, "I don't know how you do it." He folded his hands behind his head as he leaned back a little bit and relaxed into the open air of Lupercalia. The sounds of fighting, the conflict that went along with it, man, it was so fucking nice here; these guys were legitimately crazy. "The leadership thing is just-" their dad had told Alek often enough that he wasn't cut out for it, that he'd fail, that he wasn't good enough or smart enough, and when things blew up in his face, the pressure would get to him. Alek used to think that meant he'd never be like, a lawyer or something, turns out things got real when you made yourself Alpha. Alek cut himself off as he looked a this brother, "you know man, you don't look so good. Did you get hit too?"

I got punched. And, he would know, any other day and any other era of their lives Andreas might have shrugged it off, laughed at him or demanded to know who'd done it. These days he knew lycans lived punching each other, or any other form of violence as a form of civil communication. These days his little brother had endured two brain surgeries already and Andreas was highly tempted to suggest a permanent helmet fixture. These thoughts all crossed his mind as he glared with a mixture of exasperation.

@destinedgray location: Lupercalia, The Wall/Gate notes: giving you a deadpan son is a running theme and idk why

There was becoming a pattern among some of his surviving druids, a disconcerting pattern that consisted of devolving change. Or was it evolving? Aren couldn't tell; he couldn't tell if the correlation between losing druidism and morality or depravity was significant. A druid he'd blessed had eventually turned into a vampire and fought against their forces in the war. Now he looked towards this familiar face making its way through the crowds and he knew where he had once seen it before. But where Socrates had once seen a young druid with a gifted mind, now Andreas saw a creature, until recently, he would not be able to name: Illithid. A creature made of the Otherworld and the once opposing forces of the drow, of allies to the Necronomicon.

@destinedgray location: Lupercalia 2024 notes: brudders

It was that time again. Not Lupercalia, Lupercalia was nice, but Andreas remembered how cool he tried to play off bringing 3 D's home one semester of secondary school though internally he was panicking so hard about their parent's reaction that his anxiety made his muscles ache and his nausea act up and his brain all fuzzy while he was unmedicated and he snapped at Alek for breathing too loud. Except his anxieties leveled up since then and now all he was thinking about was the sensation of a certain draconic diety and Octavian. Alek showing up saying ow and talking about heart eating didn't help, reminding him about last year. Maybe he'd start on his meds again.

who? @destinedgray where? aren's private chambers notes: doing the randomize top songs thing and got genius by written by wolves

He had to be ready by Spring Equinox. The Druids would be celebrating Alban Eilir, one of many little rituals and celebrations they had over the year. But this one, 'The Light of the Earth', was a perfect metaphor for a proposal and only the ring was ready for the day. Or, it had been before Aren changed his mind about something in the design and was getting a part of it redone while also managing the druid lessons, his new part-time job and worrying about Octavian and Oztalun's every move. "What are you talking about? I have tons of Archdruid responsiblities," he argued playfully, looking through his closet while his mind was also on phone call that he had to make privately about the ring once he left Evy. Though it was true Andreas no longer had to worry about Oztalun's tree or Senate politics, both the bulk of what had been his responsibilities, his wayward brain made his mornings chaotic as though he had a million things to do. "I can't find... fucking christ, how many robes did I own?" He tossed 10th century BCE furs to the side of the floor. "Do you know where I put that black jacket with the, err," he mimed a hood to Evy, the word not coming to him in that moment. (The jacket was hung on the door a few meters away.) "Anyway, I have work in two hours and then I have to go check on Valsharra in the Fey Forest... make sure she hasn't eaten any people, say hi, then come back home on time for dinner with you. Very busy. Very much Archdruid responsibilities."

The shrug he offers is casual, maybe a little sheepish because looking back on it, it had been kind of hilarious. Andreas had handed him a stick in the woods and told him to set it on fire. Actually, thinking back, a lot of the stuff the two of them got up to was hilarious in hindsight. "I'm figuring stuff out." There's something kind of sad about the statement and he mentally kicks himself for even thinking it. Things are so different now than when they'd first met, since they'd figured they were family even. Andreas is someone important, is busy with druid things and Evy and Rowan is....He's got the shop, he's painfully aware of people stopping in to check on his well being, he's got the Amaranthus coven. He's got this hot demon who he thinks he's probably going to keep seeing. "Evy comes by the shop, how did you wind up with someone as bubbly as her?" It's playful, a return to keeping things light.

Eyes widened, lips parted. "Bubbly?" Laughter - loud and unrestrained spilled out. He supposed Rowan hadn't seen Evelina go absolutely feral before. Few were the lives that Erish led in which she wasn't led by some form of violence, but the druidess was also far more complex then that. Gentle, pensive and bubbly could be used to describe her, just not out-loud without Aren thinking of the former Valkyrie charging into battle with a blood-curdling scream of rage. "... Oof," he breathed out, wiping what would have been a tear in his right eye, laughter dying away into chuckles. "I'm glad you met her," he said more sincerely. "I sometimes wonder the same thing." He grinned and sat back a little more comfortably. "What about you? You're never personal on the podcast and I haven't heard about anyone in your life like that. I guess we never really had the best chances to be deep."

❂🐦❂

They all had their own forms of arrogance. Aren had grown up mortal once, grown up an acolyte thousands of times over and then had wise people by his side to help temper his' own hubris, humbling the Archdruid at every turn. This life had humbled Aren most of all and it made him wish for a peace and quiet that wasn't possible for very long. But while Aren had always been more halycon, Octavian had never misused his natural charisma and power. That success in higher ambitions shaped the world for generations and so life had rewarded him thus. He was a proud ruler and Aren could not take that away from him; he had earned that. But he wished the emperor was the brother he'd known. The prosperity that Octavian made was turning into pure devastation, molded and corrupted by magic that never meant to touch him. He didn't know what to do. Alek had been lost but Octavian wasn't lost; centuries later, the lost he'd might have once been had turned to pure effort and choice and irreversible, unforgivable damage.